


There's A Reason I'm Running The Show

by Elkian (SuperImposed)



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: AU, Gen, Short One Shot, What-If
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-28
Updated: 2015-03-28
Packaged: 2018-03-20 00:12:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3629436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SuperImposed/pseuds/Elkian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Plegia prepares for the Valmese invasion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	There's A Reason I'm Running The Show

The room was quiet - not silent, but gently flooded with the white noise of breathing, rustling pages, idling scratching quills, the desert wind against distant walls.

**  
**Of course it was _just_ as he was sinking into the warm peacefulness of the chamber that the door clicked open.

“Your Majesty.”

Gangrel glanced up, a flick of red eyes under invisible brows. “Whaaaat?” he drawled, thoroughly unimpressed as the wyvern rider stomped inside. Orton spared him a similarly unpleasant glare before a soft voice cut through their silent vitriol.

“Gangrel, please. Orton, you’ve news?”

The trickster sprung to his feet, and both men cut a neat bow towards the figure at the table.

“Indeed, my liege.” Orton bowed a second time before pulling a sheaf of papers from his belt. Gangrel, still standing, leaned over for a better look; the wyvern rider ignored him. “Ylisse responded surprisingly well - rumors about the new Exalt are more accurate than I’d expected.” A frown marred the soldier’s smooth features for a moment. “Vasto was at the rendezvous point when I turned homeward: it seems he and Campari have had worse luck with the Khans.”

“The tournament is coming up,” mused Plegia’s ruler, tapping one finger to a sharp chin. “Did he say anything regarding it?”

“He did say that the Khans _might_ accept some units from us, but we would have to pick a side first. His report, your Majesty-” Orton laid the smaller batch of pages neatly at the edge of the table before stepping back. “-best we follow your conclusions, in any case.”

The ever-present hood bobbed in time to a nod. “Feroxi soldiers are some of the finest - or at least most driven - on the continent. Best we secure their aid as quickly as possible.”

“I know, my liege, but Vasto says Khans Flavia and Basilio care nothing for the reports we’ve brought them. We may need harder evidence to convince them both, and that evidence lies a continent away.”

“Then we bring them a fight they’ll never forget!” Gangrel swung one arm in a lazy circle, idly tossing the shining cane Orton knew contained a viciously sharp blade. “Really, Orty, it’s as simple as it gets.”

“If anyone knows simple, oh Mad Dog, it would be you-”

“Orton! Gangrel.” Both soldiers winced at the reprimand, punctuated by the last page of Vasto’s report sliding into the stack once more. Neither could quite fathom just how their leader could both keep an ear on them and speedread at the same time, which was probably why neither held the throne. “Orton, thank you for your efforts. Please rest for today. Gangrel, since you have so enthusiastically volunteered-” the trickster grinned as winningly as he knew how, “-please join Orton and Garrick tomorrow, and pick a winning team for the Feroxi tournament. Use Vasto’s report - pages 6 through 21 detail the unit types and density he observed, though of course-”

“We should prepare for anything and everything,” Gangrel sing-songed, unconsciously joined by Orton and the soldiers bracketing the door. Under the shade of the hood, he caught glimpse of a smile - if HE ran the place, he’d have something to say -or do- about such familiarity, which again was probably why he didn’t. He dipped into an elaborate and flamboyant bow. “Of course, your Majesty. Any chance I’m getting in on the action?” Still bent, the redhead flicked his chin up and waggled his eyebrows at the cloaked figure, who raised one hand as if to stifle a laugh.

 

“We’ll see. I’d prefer you not play tactician this time, however.”

  
Gangrel bit back a wince - no one needed to see _that_ again. “Agreed.”


End file.
